2:36 AM
by Spinda Hater Ninety Seven
Summary: It's in the early hours of the morning, and fifteen-year-old Ash Ketchum is over thinking again. WARNING: Very triggering.


The clock was ticking. He knew this was dangerous. He just couldn't help it. There was just no way. And he knew he was going to regret this sooner or later.

It was 2:36 am, and fifteen year old Ash Ketchum was over thinking again.

He sighed as he let the dark void in his chest take over him for just a little bit. He had felt it coming. When he quietly watched Helioptile fall to the ground this afternoon, he felt it spark- well, dim- back to life. All the terrible words people had said to him, all of his own negative thoughts, and the online posts that didn't mention him, but he was sure were about him, all of it came back and hit him as soon as Cilan had shut off that lights and Brielle had told them goodnight and sweet dreams.

When the room was silent except for the deep breathing of those two, Pikachu, and Fennekin, he shut his eyes and tried to do the same. The hurtful words, however, were still running through, and he couldn't make them stop repeating themselves. _You're so pathetic. You're such a kid! Why can't I do anything right? Why do I always mess everything up? Ash, I think you just need to grow up already, alright? Can't you just leave me alone for once? Yeah, haha, only annoying people do that. Why do people keep going after five years of complete failure? I mean, can't they just give up already? It's pointless, can't you see that?_

Then came the ideas of how he could've fixed everything in the past. Maybe if he had expressed his authority, Charizard never would have been so disobedient. How many times had he been the reason his friends had gotten hurt? Not to mention all of the battles he'd been crushed in, the fights that had almost ruined his friendships with others, if not left scars…

But what was the point of saving the friendships? They all left in the end anyways. He always would wind up being alone, just to find someone else to be a burden to. He was never good enough for anyone. Why stick around?

Silently, he sat up and crawled out of bed, heading towards the balcony. He stared at the sky for a while, thinking, _why do I even need to be here? I could jump off of here and no one would care. Why don't I?_

A little voice in the back of his head whispered, _You're a coward._

He didn't think a word back to it. He didn't argue. He just let it be.

Without another thought, he slunk over to a chair and rolled up his shorts. A finger traced each and every scar he'd implemented on himself.

_This was for when I told Brock to shut up and he yelled at me._

_This was for that time when Misty said something that made me realize how stupid I am._

_This was for realizing how pathetic I am._

_This was for being worthless._

_This was for being addicted to a pointless, unachievable dream._

_This was for Dawn._

_This was for Dawn._

_This was for Dawn._

_These were for when Dawn left._

_These were for realizing how terrible I must be for her to have left._

The list went on, and on, and on, until he had recalled every event that had made him take the razor to the skin. There were too many now; he could no longer wear shorts or go swimming without them being visible. Cilan often asked why he didn't swim anymore; he would come up with multiple excuses. "My swimsuit tore in a _really _awkward spot." "The water's too cold." "My stomach sort of hurts. I think I ate too much." "I'm pretty tired." "I'm too hungry."

That was another problem he often cut about. He ate _so _much, and he was always _so _hungry; he was just a pig and it seemed everyone knew. He couldn't have so much as a bite of salad anymore without his gut clenching in fear that everyone who saw him was thinking _omigod, he's so fat. That's so gross, eww, look at all of it! Better be eating that salad, fatso. _

He had reserved to excuses to skip a couple of meals a week. "Uh, sorry, I guess I ate a lot this morning, heheh…" "I seriously missed dinner? Oops, I guess I lost track of time on my walk, haha. I'll eat later." And if he forgot to skip one, he'd just get a really small meal next time. "I'm not too hungry right now…" "I'll get something more later, don't worry." "Oh, I was eating snacks all day today, I guess it just kind of filled me up, haha."

It still wasn't enough, though. His thighs still touched, and his arms still jiggled if someone hit them, and his cheeks pooched up when he smiled, and he just, he could barely deal with himself anymore.

And it was the reason he was alone.

It was the reason he was always alone.

Even when he was hanging out with Brielle and Cilan, or in a huge crowd of people, or Brock and Misty, or… anyone, really. He was alone. Dawn was the only one who made him feel any different.

It was always just this empty feeling encasing him. Like, he could walk away and no one would notice. Brock could always find a pretty girl to replace him, for Misty, someone way less annoying, May could always find Drew, Max needed a better role model than him, Iris, someone more mature, Cilan, someone with a much better bond with their Pokémon, Brielle, one of the many guys that were always after her. She was very pretty, mind you; her hair reached halfway down her back and was wavy, she had a very slim, hourglass figure, pretty blue eyes… But no matter what, they were no match to Dawn's.

Dawn was always the one he felt he could relate to. She could take a hit from her losses, and he always found himself listening to her late at night, after everyone was asleep and she was having a moment much like he was having right now. She could talk her problems out, and he'd hug her and not let on that he was feeling the same, to try and prove that he was strong, to be a rock, not a two-legged table. So he always ended up giving her most of his heart. And he was okay with that, because she needed it.

Although, when it was anyone but her, he couldn't help but wonder, _Why am I doing this?_

_Who's going to save me?_

_Am I going to be alone forever?_

But he couldn't tell anyone about his problems. Oh, no, never. He would never want to be a burden to anyone. No one would care anyhow, and why should he interrupt their happy lives with sadness? It wasn't their problem. They didn't need to know. So he just quieted down and plastered a fake smile on his face.

There were many times where he'd just run off for a bit in the middle of the night, or fake a walk or something, and just cried his little, weak heart out. No one cared, no one ever had cared, no one ever would care. And it just wasn't _fair,_ everyone else had others looking out for them, but Ash? He had _no one. _Pikachu was stuck with him, so were all of his Pokémon, and his companions were just there. He was their excuse to travel, the only drawback being him. He wanted somebody he could talk to, without feeling miserable for doing so and annoying them.

He felt his thighs tingling.

This time, he decided not to hold back.

With a newfound determination, he silently stormed inside, snatched the razors out of his pack, ripped them out of the plastic, and tore them through his thigh. Just once. The blood quickly pooled out and dribbled down; he suddenly remembered the forgotten beauty of inflicting the harm himself, and of the red liquid slipping away like he wished he could, and the control of the pain. Without realizing it, he swiped again, and again, and again. He tried to silently cry the hurt away, but no amount of pain made the tears come. This was the first relapse he'd had since coming to Kalos. And he wanted to kill himself for it.

He'd just started poking up the blood with bits of toilet paper when it occurred to him that he'd killed the Butterfree.

That was when the tears came. They lasted for hours, even after he'd collapsed in bed and cried himself to sleep.

And when the morning came, and Cilan got up at six to do some work and get ready for the day, he couldn't help but notice that Ash had tear stains on his face. Figuring that he'd just had a nightmare of sorts, he went to the bathroom to grab a shower, completely missing the bloody razor on the sink counter and the bloody wads of toilet paper in the trash.

Just as it had always been.

Just the way Ash needed it to be.

**A/N: I'm always here if you need to talk. Sorry if this was triggering. I love all of you, don't forget that.**

**May or may not add a second chapter. Depends on whether you all would want it or not.**

**Have a safe night, guys.**


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